<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Random Encounter by g33kyclassic</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22965286">Random Encounter</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/g33kyclassic/pseuds/g33kyclassic'>g33kyclassic</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Non-Mutant, Charles Is a Big Dorkface, Erik is a dreamboat, Honestly Charles What Are You Thinking, M/M, or at least Charles thinks so</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-20 22:02:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>19,135</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22965286</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/g33kyclassic/pseuds/g33kyclassic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles is just a typical London commuter...until he sees the most gorgeous man on earth standing a few feet away from him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>275</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>263</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I may have an issue folks - I can't stop writing new Cherik fics.  Please send help.</p><p>Also, Charles is a writer of erotica in this fic.  If that isn't your cup of tea, please skip this one as his writing is a significant part of the story.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Charles loved the tube.  It was the perfect place to people watch, to observe and take notes, to watch the whole world pass by as you sat, silent and still and let it move by you.  It was boisterous and odd, it was awkward and accepting, it was universal and unique.  There was never a morning on the tube when he didn’t see something new, strange or unexpected.</p>
<p>What better place for an author to be inspired?</p>
<p>Charles wrote in his tiny study, typing away on his keyboard.  Sometimes he wrote scribbled in notebooks while tucked into a hollow of trees in Hampstead Heath, or Highgate Woods.  But on the Tube, he watched until he saw the right person, the right couple, and then, then he closed his eyes and told himself their story.</p>
<p>Today, Charles was taking the Northern Line into the City to see his agent. Final edits of his newest book were ready, but as Charles took in the crowds on Londoners packing the station, his agent was the last thing on his mind.</p>
<p>It wasn’t until he squeezed his way onto the carriage and miraculously found a free seat that Charles saw him: the most handsome man he had ever seen in his life.  More gorgeous than any man he’d ever created in his imagination, which was saying something as Charles wrote erotic gay fiction, and building attractive male characters was part and parcel of his profession.  But this man… this <i>Man</i> was perfection incarnate.  He was tall, but not too tall.  He was lean, with broad shoulders and a long torso that narrowed into an impossibly small waist.  He had that type of hair colour that was just touched by ginger, the type that would catch a woman’s eye, but wasn’t bold enough to lead to horrible childhood teasing.</p>
<p>Charles had the singularly odd of experience of having his mind go completely blank, as his eyes took in every inch of the man’s body, his face, and his perfectly tailored suit. Charles found himself fixated on the man’s long, elegant fingers and how they wrapped themselves around the pole next to him, his mind suddenly filled with vivid erotic imagery of those fingers wrapped around a certain part of Charles’ own anatomy.</p>
<p>Then, as suddenly as he had appeared, the man vanished, stepping off the Tube at Euston station and leaving Charles to stare at an empty space, until finally his own stop was called and he exited the carriage in a daze.</p>
<p>He spent most of the morning like that: distracted and daydreaming, so lost in thought that his agent said he was ‘hopeless’ and sent him home, asking him to come in again at the same time the next morning.</p>
<p>Charles spent the rest of the day at home typing furiously. He wrote about the Man, walking into a club and being immediately spotted by a playful, outgoing young man who asked him to dance.  A dance which was as much a seduction as anything else.  He wrote about how the young man worshipped The Man’s body, how he sucked his fingers into his mouth, how he rocked his ass against his cock.</p>
<p>He wrote and wrote and wrote. Until the light faded from the room and the glare from the screen hurt his eyes.  Until the Man and his young admirer were completely satisfied.</p>
<p>Charles collapsed on his bed that night.  His back aching from sitting for hours and his eyes burning from staring at a bright screen in a dark room.<br/>
He dreamt about The Man that night.  He dreamt The Man was jerking him off, slow and steady, making him beg and plead for more, those long elegant fingers wrapped around his cock, stroking him until he screamed.</p>
<p>Charles woke the next morning, sweat soaked and flushed.  As he stood under the water in the shower he hoped he could focus today for Kitty; his agent deserved his attention and his full professional effort.  But… but as he soaped up his body, as his own fingers wrapped around his cock, he prayed he’d see The Man again.  Just one more time – at least one more time.</p><hr/>
<p>Charles was beginning to feel like a voyeur, or worse, a stalker.</p>
<p>On Tuesday morning he’d headed out to meet with Kitty again and go over the edits (with his brain engaged this time) and he’s seen The Man on the tube again.</p>
<p>Thankfully he’d been able to concentrate at Kitty’s office.  Rather shamelessly however, after they’d finished the edits Charles had convinced Kitty that it would be best to look over the cover options, the cover blurbs and his small, but rather excited, book signing tour in person.  Charles was more than a little ashamed to admit that though all of those things could have been done via email, and he would generally have preferred working via distance so he could stay home and read and write, he had instead arranged morning meetings with Kitty just so he might see The Man on the tube.</p>
<p>He simply couldn’t resist the possibility of seeing The Man again.  He’d written over twenty thousand words since seeing The Man.  At this rate, his next novel would be halfway done by the end of the week he was so inspired!</p>
<p>If Charles was being completely honest, though The Man had certainly inspired the lead character in his latest work, Charles couldn’t help hoping that in real life The Man would be more likely to fall for an unfashionable, awkward novelist, than he was to engage in heady affairs with a club going dancer full of energy, enthusiasm and confidence.  It seemed highly unlikely, but Charles couldn’t quit hoping.</p>
<p>Everyday Charles’ hopes dwindled a little bit; The Man, though always the object of Charles’ focus and his many desires, never appeared to notice him in return.  This wasn’t exactly surprising – the London tube was rather notorious for its lack of eye contact and conversation between strangers.  And Charles was trying to be subtle, hiding his gaze behind books, sneaking peeks at the other man every few minutes and than looking away quickly.  Oh, the day The Man had stood directly below a map of the tube Charles had pretended to be studying the map intently, while he was really trying to memorize the perfect sharp, masculine features of The Man’s face.  But so far, The Man hadn’t given Charles a single glance.</p>
<p>Charles shouldn’t have been surprised.  He wrote erotic fiction, which likely brought a certain image to mind.  Charles did not meet any of those expectations: he was neither a middle aged women with secret naughty fantasies, nor was he an outgoing, flamboyant, worldly gay man who happily wrote about his own sexual escapades.  No, he was small and unassuming.  He wore huge, thick glasses and warm, bulky sweaters because his thin frame was always cold.  Kitty said when he’d arrived at her office that first day, she’d thought he was a virginal high schooler with a very active imagination.</p>
<p>His last disastrous dating experience had ended after three dates when the man he was seeing said he was ‘somehow both boring and too much all at once.’  Charles hadn’t had any interest in even trying to get back into the social side of life since then.</p>
<p>It was no wonder The Man wasn’t giving Charles a moment of his attention.</p>
<p>Meanwhile, Charles had catalogued every perfectly fitted suit The Man had worn this week and spent most of the ride into the city on Thursday morning trying to figure out the exact colour of The Man’s changeable eyes (Were they blue? No grey?  But then they looked green on Wednesday…).</p>
<p>On Friday, Charles almost swallowed his tongue.  The Man was wearing dark jeans, a fitted white dressed shirt with the sleeves already rolled up to his elbows, and a waistcoat.  Charles had to drag his eyes away before he embarrassed himself and started drooling.  It was as if he every fantasy had come true.  Though he usually never wrote on the tube, he actually spent the rest of the trip making notes.</p>
<p>
  <i>Regency romance?  Gay regency romance?  Convince Kitty this will sell oodles of copies.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Can you fuck on horseback?</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Highwayman who falls for a mark.  No, bastard son of a Duke who falls for a Lord even though he hates the peerage.  No, younger son of an Earl who is a secret spy during the war and is in love with a fellow spy but cannot ever admit to his desires.  No, clandestine romance between a Lord and the groundskeeper.</i>
</p>
<p>Charles was so absorbed in his notes, he almost missed The Man leaving the tube.  Annoyed with himself for not getting a good look at The Man as he left, Charles turned in his seat to look out the window of the carriage and see if he could catch a glimpse of The Man before he walked away.</p>
<p>It took him only seconds to find him, the shine of his purple waistcoat easy to spot in a sea of dull colours.  What he hadn’t expected was for The Man to be looking right back at him.  Charles’ eyes widened, but he couldn’t look away.  The Man’s eyes were blue, blue like a stormy sea that reflected the turbulent grey clouds in the sky above it.</p>
<p>Charles kept staring even as the carriage jerked back into motion.  The Man stared back and didn’t turn to walk away until Charles carriage reached the underground tunnel and darkness descended upon them.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I was starting to worry about you.”  Kitty looked at him from across her desk. “But then you sent me this manuscript...”</p>
<p>“You liked it?”  Charles asked tentatively.</p>
<p>“I loved it.”  Kitty smiled. “And I figured it explained why I hadn’t heard from you in three months.  You must have been huddle over your computer every day to produce something of this quality so quickly.”</p>
<p>“I… thank you. I may have sequestered myself slightly.”  Charles admitted, cheeks flushing.<br/>“Well, I had to get you out of the house for this.”  Kitty grinned broadly. “I have excellent news. The novella you wrote – about the dancer and the business man – was picked up almost immediately. Freedom Press is interested in publishing it in a collection of modern gay erotic fiction.  But the novel, well we’ve had an offer – from Eisenhardt Publishing.”</p>
<p>“I wasn’t aware they published romantic fiction.”  Charles replied, puzzled.</p>
<p>As far as he could remember – and he had an excellent memory for publishers – Eisenhardt Publishing was known for promoting mostly non-fiction, with forays into fiction in the last decade, but only in the historic and literary genres.</p>
<p>“Apparently they’re expanding their horizons.  I received a notice several weeks ago that they’re interested in ‘Queer Fiction’.  I sent your manuscript in right away.  The regency setting wasn’t going to appeal to Freedom Press, they’re all about contemporary, modern settings, pushing the envelope and shocking readers.  Your manuscript – as wonderful as it is – is a departure for you and doesn’t fit their mandate.”</p>
<p>Charles frowned and looked down at his hands.</p>
<p>“I didn’t mean that as an insult, Charles.”  Kitty said softly. “You are an amazing writer.  You’re ability to write an erotic scene is second to none.  This latest novel is sexy as hell, but its romantic.  Its full of longing, overcoming barriers, and, well, love. It’s refreshing to see you try something different.  Eisenhardt Publishing clearly agrees.  We have a meeting with them two weeks from now.”</p>
<p>“They can’t just send an offer over?”  </p>
<p>“Have you become a recluse in the last few months?”  Kitty arched a brow. “They hinted they wanted to offer you a multiple book deal – you’re meeting with them in person.  Understood?” </p>
<p>“Yes, yes of course. I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful.  A multi-book deal is… I’m quite astounded.” Charles babbled out, excitement mixed with trepidation swirling in his belly.</p>
<p>“Good.  We’re meeting at their office, Thursday next week at 9:30am.  I’ll meet you there.”  </p>
<p>Charles promised he would be there, and made a mental noted to set his alarm and plan to arrive early (which tended to be the only way he ended up anywhere on time).  He paused at the door to give Kitty a wave goodbye, only to find he giving him a thorough once over.</p>
<p>“Maybe wear something more… youthful?”  She suggested.</p>
<p>Charles gave Kitty his best reassuring smile and scooted out of the office.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Charles sighed in relief when he reached his perfect little terraced house in Hampstead, collapsing in a heap onto his bed.</p>
<p>The past three months had been… trying to say the least.</p>
<p>Firstly, all those months ago, he had had every intention of waking up on Monday morning and pathetically walking to the tube and hoping to see The Man again.  He was half terrified at the prospect of encountering him again, now that it seemed The Man had noticed Charles.  But he couldn’t resist the chance to see him again.</p>
<p>Except on that glowing Monday morning, when the sun peaked in through his window, Charles hadn’t gotten out of bed.  He’d barely gotten out of bed for the rest of the week he was so sick.  A very aggressive strain of the flu had knocked him right out and he became so ill, his friend Moira had dragged him to the hospital after she’d stopped over for a visit and Charles couldn’t hold a coherent conversation.</p>
<p>He’d spent a couple days in the hospital, hooked up to monitors and being pumped full of fluids until he was finally coherent and keeping food down.  </p>
<p>When he’d gotten back home, all he’d wanted to do was write.  During his illness he’d been filled with  detailed dreams about The Man; always dressed in a waistcoat, perfectly gorgeous and staring at him with those steely eyes.</p>
<p>Oh, how Charles wanted him.  He wanted The Man above him, covering every inch of him with his lean body.  He wanted to slip his hand into The Man jeans and stroke his cock until he was hard and ready. He wanted to ride him, sinking down and taking every inch of him, straddling his lap so he could watch those mysterious eyes on him the whole time they fucked.</p>
<p>Charles knew it would never happen.  If he’d been unimpressive before his illness, he was even less so now.  When he’d returned from the hospital, his ribs had stuck out and he had somehow become even paler.  Moira had been so concerned she’d come over every other day for two weeks, bringing him take out, or cooking him meals.</p>
<p>Even Raven had stopped by, which was both a blessing and a curse.  A blessing because he seldom had the chance to see his sister and a curse because she’d wrung his secret out of him (he’d never been able to keep a thing from her), and then laughed uproariously at the very idea of Charles’ crush on a random man on the tube.</p>
<p>“It’s ridiculous Charles!  You’ve never even spoken to him!  He’s probably straight, or taken, or both.”  Raven had scoffed. “Your overactive imagination is impossible.  If you want a date, let me set you up or download a dating app!”</p>
<p>Charles had spent the rest of the night plying Raven with pizza and ice cream and distracting her by having a sing-a-long movie marathon to the Pitch Perfect movies, all in the name of deterring her from asking more about his crush or, god forbid, signing him up for a dating app.</p>
<p>He’d never bothered to take the morning tube into the city after that.</p>
<p>But then, he’d also written an entire novel in two months. One so good, a new publisher was interested in his work. He certainly couldn’t mope about after that bit of good news, could he?</p>
<p>Charles woke up bright and early on Thursday morning.  He showered and shaved and made a valiant effort to tame his unruly hair.  He stared into his closet and wish in vain that hip, modern and fashionable clothes might suddenly appear.  In the end, he settled on wearing a suit, but skipped the tie, hoping it might make him seem more… well, more like someone who could pull off a casually professionals vibe.</p>
<p>By 9:10am, he was pacing in front of the British Museum, clutching a travel mug of Earl Grey in his hand, wondering if he would arrive too early if he started walking to the Eisenhardt Publishing office just a few blocks away.</p>
<p>“Charles!” Charles turned to find Kitty hurrying across the street in his direction. “I cannot believe we managed to meet like this, but its absolutely perfect.  Walk with me.”  </p>
<p>Kitty linked her arm into his and they set off together.  Charles let Kitty talk excitedly and found himself easily swept away by her enthusiasm.  If they could make this deal happen today, it would be, by far, the biggest success of his career.  Kitty’s energy was contagious and Charles quickly found himself sitting in the waiting area at the Eisenhardt main office, smiling at Kitty as her knee bounced up and down rhythmically beside him.</p>
<p>In fact, Charles was beginning to feel quite positive about the upcoming meeting.  He could do this.  If anyone could talk with genuine passion about the novel it was him – the novel was (not that Charles would ever, ever tell a soul) basically a fantasy of his own creation where a bastard son of Duke, known for his wild ways and hatred of the peerage, feel in love in an unassuming, rule governed young man who’d unexpectedly inherited an Earldom after being groomed his whole life to join the clergy.  It was a story of opposites attract, of love overcoming all obstacles.  Charles had spent the last three months totally engrossed in the tale, surely he could sell the idea to someone else.</p>
<p>Walking with his head held high and his shoulders back, Charles was determined to put his best foot forward.  That determination lasted until he and Kitty waked into the office of the head editor and Charles laid eyes on the man standing behind the desk waiting to greet them.</p>
<p>It was <i>him.</i></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you so much for reading.  All comments and kudos are treasured like the jewels they are :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Hello, I’m Erik Lehnsherr, Head of the London branch of Eisenhardt Publising.”  Said The Man, no, Erik.</p>
<p>Charles did his best to act like a normal person, not a man who had just come face to face with his dream man, who he had basically stalked a few months prior.  He let Kitty do the talking.  He shook Erik’s hand and managed not to moan at how perfectly it fit around his own. He listened to Erik’s perfect, deep, American accented voice and was almost sure he sat down in his chair gracefully, though it felt more like he melted into it like a puddle of goo, because Erik’s voice was the sexiest thing he had ever heard. He wanted that voice to say everything.  He wanted to hear Erik say ‘more’, ‘cock’, and ‘fuck’.  He wanted to know what it sounded like when Erik lost control.  He wanted…</p>
<p>“Charles?”</p>
<p>Charles flushed, coughing guiltily as he was brought back to reality by Kitty’s voice.</p>
<p>“My apologies.  I got a bit lost there for a moment.  The writer’s brain is such an easy place to get lost.”  Charles chuckled, trying for levity.</p>
<p>“I’m sure it is.”  Erik answered, frowning deeply.</p>
<p>“I was just saying we had expected to meet with an Emma Frost.”  Kitty smiled tightly and Charles knew she was cursing the surprise of meeting a man she didn’t know and had not spoken to previously. “I don’t believe we’ve met before, Mr. Lehnsherr.”</p>
<p>“That’s because Mr. Lehnsherr use to work at the New York branch.  He was Head of their Adult Publishing Division.  He’s the nephew of current the President of the company, Max Eisenhardt.” Charles rambling off automatically, stopping when he felt two sets of eyes staring at him. “I’m sorry… I… I was reading the company website yesterday...”  Charles trailed off, feeling his cheeks flush once again.</p>
<p>Why was he so incapable of normal human interaction?  Why had he been cursed with such a perfect memory for everything he’d ever read?  And why did he have to share that information like a total buffoon in front of the most handsome man in the world?  And why didn’t the Eisenhardt Publishing website have pictures of their employees to save Charles the shock of realizing his dream man was also Erik Lehnsherr of Eisenhardt Publishing.</p>
<p>After several tense moments feeling like he was shrivelling under Mr. Lehnsherr’s intense stare, Kitty finally broke the silence.</p>
<p>“So, is there a particular reason you, not Miss Frost, are meeting with us today, Mr. Lehnsherr?”</p>
<p>“Miss Frost was very… taken with what you sent her, Miss Pryde. I understand her desire to expand Eisenhardt into queer fiction. I, however, am not sold on the idea of Eisenhardt publishing romantic fiction.”</p>
<p>Charles watched Erik as he spoke (when had he not been observing Erik with all the fixation of a scientist examining a sample) and he saw the way his mouth curled in distaste.</p>
<p>“You have strong opinions about romance novels, Mr. Lehnsherr?”  Charles inquired, smiling lightly.</p>
<p>“I find them to be less than impressive.  Full of unlikely scenarios, overly dramatic declarations of love and a plethora of useless drivel.” Erik replied, looking directly at Charles.</p>
<p>“And how many romance novels have you read?” Charles asked pointedly.</p>
<p>“I have read Pride &amp; Prejudice.”  Erik ground out.</p>
<p>“And nothing since the 1813?” Charles arched a brow.</p>
<p>“Romantic fiction is not to my taste.” Erik answered flatly.</p>
<p>“Your lack of enjoyment of romantic fiction has given you doubts about the marketability of my novel?”</p>
<p>“I have no doubt that a novel filled with titillating sex scenes can and will sell -”</p>
<p>“My novel is more than sex scenes strung together.”  Charles bit out.</p>
<p>“I’m sure it is. My issue is not your book – I’ve not had time to read your manuscript as it is – my issue is whether a book of this nature is the right direction for this publishing house.”</p>
<p>Charles stared across the table at the man, who up until a few minutes ago had been the man of his dreams.  This man was not worthy of his fantasies; he was a pompous, narrow minded ass.</p>
<p>“I think are misinformed about romantic fiction, Mr. Lehnsherr.  Romance is about people; not about sex.  It is about love and how it brings people, often disparate and unlikely partners, together.  It is about hope and the power of human kindness.  It shows that everyone is capable of change, of growth.  That everyone has the possibility of finding love and joy in life.  It is about finding you have the inner strength to do things on your own you never thought you could, and that you found a loving partner to support you while doing so. Romantic fiction brings a smile to people’s faces not just because they’ve just read a smutty sex scene they’d like to try out for themselves at a later date, but because it offers a bright light in an increasingly dark world.  If that is not something you, or Eisenhardt Publishing wishes to share with the world, than that is your prerogative.  But I challenge you to read my manuscript, every page, and then tell me your decision.  If you don’t wish to publish my work – so be it.  But I will not sit here and be rejected by a man who’s not bothered to read a word I have written.”  Charles stood abruptly, took a perfectly bound copy of his manuscript from his book bag and laid it on Erik’s desk. “Kitty, we’re leaving.  Good day, Mr Lehnsherr.”</p>
<p>Charles left the room, descended the stairs and made it out onto the busy London streets with his ears burning and his stomach churning.  What an absolute bastard!  Elitist, snobbish, judgmental, prick.  He could not believe he had spent the past three months wishing to be noticed by that physically gorgeous, but intellectually and emotionally barren man.</p>
<p>“Charles, what were you thinking!?”  Kitty hissed, pulling on his arm. “Emma Frost was offering a multi-book deal!”</p>
<p>“Well, Mr. Lehnsherr was not – he was so uninterested he hadn’t even read a page!  He was a horrible ass of a man and I could not sit back and listen to that man disparage an entire of genre of fiction that he has barely even read.”</p>
<p>“You may have cost yourself, and me, the opportunity of a lifetime!”</p>
<p>Charles felt himself deflate at Kitty’s words.  It was true, with his inheritance he didn’t have to worry about funds for the rest of his lifetime, but the same could not be said for his agent.</p>
<p>“I am sorry, Kitty.  I know this is an opportunity that would mean the world to both of us – to be picked up by such a major publisher.  Could we perhaps try to arrange a meeting directly with Miss Frost?  Outside the Eisenhardt office, perhaps?  I do have a connection at the Savoy... I could get us in for high tea?”  He offered apologetically.</p>
<p>“I will hold you to that, Xavier.  And next time you will keep your mouth closed unless someone asks you a direct question.  I’m not going to let you ruin this.”  Kitty instructed.</p>
<p>“Understood.” Charles agreed immediately. “Although, in my defense I did ask Lehnsherr to read the manuscript.  There is a small chance he may actually do so.”</p>
<p>“You’d better hope he does and that he loves it as much as Emma and I do.” </p>
<p>“Have confidence Kitty – it’s possible even a man with a heart as cold as Mr. Lehnsherr can be won over by a romantic tale.”  Charles smiled, as Kitty laughed.</p>
<p>He was almost home, keys in hand, before he realized he had just challenged Erik Lehnsherr to read a manuscript about an explicit gay love story in which one of the leading men was his physical twin. </p>
<p>
  <i>Fuck.</i>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Well, sugar, it looks like you accomplished your goal of undermining your top editor and scared off our best prospects of publishing a book that will hit the best sellers list.”</p>
<p>Erik turned from his window and looked over at Emma Frost, who stood in his office, leaning against his desk, in all her white pant suit glory.</p>
<p>“Still championing the next ‘Fifty Shades of Grey’ are we?”  </p>
<p>“Erik, not every book of erotic fiction is the horror that is the Fifty Shades trilogy.”  Emma strode forward, hands on hips. “If this book was anything similar to that, I would have thrown it in the trash – as I have done with many a manuscript.  I am a woman with exquisite taste.”</p>
<p>Erik arched a brow at Emma, but held his tongue.  Not matter how many times he insisted Emma’s penchant for white clothing was a tad overdone, she never listened.</p>
<p>“He wasn’t what I was expecting.”  Erik muttered.</p>
<p>“Who?  The author?”  Erik nodded. “Yes, well I haven’t met the man myself, but I’ve read almost all of his work.  He’s excellent.  His sex scenes can turn me on faster than Usain Bolt can run the hundred meter dash – the man has talent. Which you would know if you’d bothered to read the chapters I sent you.”  Emma finished pointedly.</p>
<p>“He was…  interesting.”  Erik said, unable to express his impression in words.</p>
<p>Charles Xavier had been unassuming, nothing like what Erik had thought he’d be, until he’d opened his mouth.  Then he had been… passionate, clearly well educated, stubborn, and more ballsy than Erik would have given him credit for.  Not many people walked out on the possibility of a multi-book deal.  Not many people dared to speak to Erik Lehnsherr of Eisenhardt publishing the way Charles Xavier had this morning.  No one Erik had ever met had eyes quite that blue, either.</p>
<p>“I see he left you his manuscript.”  Emma said, running her perfectly manicured nail over the leather binding. “Read it.  It’s worth your time.  If he surprised you this morning, just imagine how shocked you’ll be when you read the book.”</p>
<hr/>
<p>Charles sipped his tea, a very nice herbal blend of lemon and ginger, and turned the page. Ever since his confrontation with Erik, he’d been on a reading kick.  As if to assure himself of his own beliefs, he was reading the best of his collection: Pride &amp; Prejudice, Jane Eyre, North and South, Persuasion, Devil in Winter, and Autoboyography.   If his wretched encounter with that horrible man could be said to have helped with anything, it was increasing his Goodreads total for the year.</p>
<p>It had clearly ended his ridiculous crush on the man.  It was gone.  Done.  Completely over.</p>
<p>Charles had not had a masturbatory session for the ages last night, dildo up his ass, hand on his cock, Erik’s name on his lips, where he had come so hard he’d had to clean the headboard of his bed, certainly not.</p>
<p>Just the thought of last night, of the way he couldn’t stop Erik’s face, his hands, his lean, hard body, from invading his fantasies once again, made Charles’s face flame.  </p>
<p>He pushed off the couch and headed to the kitchen, reaching up to one of the highest cupboards in search of his small stash of wine. If Erik’s arrogance and dismissive attitude couldn’t banish him from Charles’ mind, surely he could drown him out with a bottle of rose.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Raven picked up her phone with a puzzled frown: it was 8am and Charles was calling her.</p>
<p>“Charles?”</p>
<p>“Raven… oh Raven.  I had to call.  It’s just so...”</p>
<p>Raven could hear Charles sniffling on the other end of the line. “Charles what… why are even awake right now?  It’s the middle of the night over there!”  Raven chided.</p>
<p>Her brother loved a good lie in, but since graduating university and starting his career as a writer, he’d turned into a young man who went to bed early, and woke up with the sun, taking long walks through London’s parks.  Raven often teased him about acting like a retired seventy-year-old, but there was a part of her that was glad.  Glad to see her brother finally just be himself.  No longer staying out at parties, sitting in corners, absolutely miserable and desperately trying to fit in and painfully aware he was failing.</p>
<p>“I just… I do love the singing.”  Charles sighed. “I thought I should call.  The singing, the costumes… it made me think of you.”</p>
<p>“Oh god, you’re having a Julie Andrews marathon, aren’t you?  Fuck, Charles what happened?  Why didn’t you call earlier?  How much have you had to drink?”</p>
<p>“A bit.”  Charles sniffed again.</p>
<p>“So a lot.”  Raven rolled her eyes. “Which movie are you on?”</p>
<p>“Princess Diaries.”</p>
<p>“Jesus Christ, Charles!”  Raven stopped pacing in shock. “Put the bottle away and tell me what’s wrong right now.”</p>
<p>Raven waited, tapping her fingers on the kitchen counter and listening to Charles shuffling and the clinking of bottles through the phone.</p>
<p>“I can’t stop thinking about him.”  Charles groaned.</p>
<p>“About who?”</p>
<p>“Him, Raven, him.  The man from the tube.”</p>
<p>“That was ages ago!  Surely you -”</p>
<p>“I met him. In person.  Last week.”  Charles hiccuped.</p>
<p>“And?”  Raven prodded.</p>
<p>“He was horrible.  An arrogant, stuck-up ass.”  Charles muttered.  “I can’t stop thinking about him… especially naked.  I keep thinking about him naked. He’s so lean… and I bet his -”</p>
<p>“Stop.  Right now.  If you say one word about that man’s penis -”</p>
<p>“His cock.  I would definitely call it a cock.”  Charles sighed dreamily and Raven made retching noises in response.</p>
<p>“I am going to try to wash my ears out and forget you just said that. You know I don’t care about dicks in any way.”  Raven said in distaste. “Listen to me Charles: it is the middle of the night.  You are drunk.  Go to bed.  And stop crushing on assholes – you’ve never done it before and you shouldn’t start when you’re thirty.  It’s a complete and total eighteen year old move.  Okay?”</p>
<p>“I’ve put the bottle away.”  Charles confirmed.</p>
<p>“And you’re going to bed?” </p>
<p>“I thought I was the responsible one?”  Charles asked, voice annoyed, though Raven could hear him moving.</p>
<p>“You can be the responsible one again tomorrow.”  Raven conceded.  “When are you coming to New York, hmm?  Does your book tour send you this way?”</p>
<p>“Certainly not.  The tour is UK cities only.  I’m hardly so successful I can travel overseas.  But, I’ll fly over soon.  Winter, I think.  I do love the snow.”</p>
<p>“Yes, you’re crazy like that.  Are you in bed yet?”</p>
<p>“How inappropriate – I am your brother!”  </p>
<p>“My brother, who called me, drunk, and pining over some jerk.”</p>
<p>“He is a very, very attractive jerk...”</p>
<p>“I do not care.  You are better than this. You deserve better than an arrogant asshole who happens to be good looking.  Unless this guy redeems himself by proving he’s some kind of secret saint, well, forget him.”  Raven declared confidently.</p>
<p>“I bow to your wisdom, dear sister.”</p>
<p>“You damn well better.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This fic has officially become a Pride &amp; Prejudice modern AU.  That was not my intention when I started writing it, but here we are.  Forgive me Miss Austen - they do say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, so please feel flattered...please.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Erik put the manuscript down and paced the length of his bedroom. Barefoot and shirtless, he stared out his window.  He lived in modern apartment with a view of the London skyline that was the envy of most of his friends, but tonight when he looked out the floor to ceiling windows, he saw nothing.</p>
<p>He had half a dozen manuscripts Emma had sent him home with this week, deeming them ‘promising’.  They cluttered his desk and should have occupied his attention, but there was one he kept coming back to, over and over.</p>
<p>He’d read Charles’ manuscript in one sitting the first night he had it.  He’d liked it – more than he cared to admit.  The man wrote intriguing characters, his plotting was good, and he’d woven historical events seamlessly into the narrative. But Erik should have been able to put the story aside and focus on new things.</p>
<p>He couldn’t.</p>
<p>Charles’ novel haunted him.  Night after night he reached for it.  At first he was caught by the physical resemblance between himself and one of the lead characters.  Then he’d been caught up of a sensuality of the sex scenes.  And finally he’d been swept away by the characters themselves – wanting to curse the mistakes and societal expectations that kept the couple apart, and finding himself more moved than he thought possible when they finally found some semblance of peace and happiness.  </p>
<p>Perhaps it was because, as a gay man, he’d so very seldom read a story that spoke to his own experiences.  Maybe it was because Erik had been single for years now and secretly (very very secretly, buried far beneath a mask of indifference) he too wanted to find a man who would love him and challenge him and make him want to be a better man, like the two main characters in the novel.  Or maybe it was just that Charles had written a damn good novel.  One that would no doubt sell plenty of copies.  Whatever the reason, Erik couldn’t let the book rest.</p>
<p>It was almost too good to be true. <i>It was almost too good to be true.</i></p>
<p>Erik turned from the window and grabbed his phone.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Charles peered into the oven and grinned.  The muffins were looking wonderful.</p>
<p>After getting spectacularly drunk the other evening, he had taken Raven’s words to heart: it was time to for to be an adult.  A responsible adult.</p>
<p>In a fit of responsibility and productivity, Charles had spent most of the day baking.  He’d made bread dough, which was proofing in the fridge.  He’d made scones and delivered them to his neighbours, making sure to give a double batch to Sarah, who worked at the local independent bookstore and struggled to make ends meet as a single mother of two rambunctious boys while living in one of the most expensive cities in the world.</p>
<p>Finally, this evening, he was baking for himself.  Reaching into the oven, he extracted a tray of perfectly baked lemon poppyseed muffins and set them on the counter to cool.</p>
<p>Satisfied with himself, Charles put the kettle on for tea and stood in front of his bookshelves to contemplate his reading choice for the evening.</p>
<p>His mind remained occupied with his literary options as he walked to his front door to answer a rather insistent sounding knock. As he opened the door, expecting some young person looking for donations, he was trying to decide between reading Matt Haig, or Becky Chambers.</p>
<p>His distraction explained why Erik Lehnsherr was able to push past him into his home, waving his manuscript in his face before he could so much as say a word in protest.</p>
<p>“You wrote this?”  Erik demanded, voice accusatory.</p>
<p>Charles stepped back, putting some well needed space between himself and an angry and unexpected guest.</p>
<p>“Yes.”  He replied, puzzled. “I wrote my manuscript.  It does have my name on the front page.”</p>
<p>“Anyone can put their name on something.”  Erik spit out.</p>
<p>“Are you implying I plagiarized my manuscript?”  Charles stood, arms crossed over his chest, furious.</p>
<p>“I do not see how someone of your age and inexperience could write something of this caliber.”  Erik shot back.</p>
<p>“Exactly how young and inexperienced do you think I am?”  Charles ground out.</p>
<p>“You look about twenty and you have never had a major publishing deal.”  Erik replied. “That is quite young and inexperienced.”</p>
<p>“I am thirty.  I happen to have been published by several small publishing houses, though you are correct, Miss Frost’s offer was my first offer from a major publisher.  I do not personally believe that one’s age precludes good writing – no matter if the author is young, or old.”  Charles retorted.</p>
<p>“And the historical information?  It was effortlessly weaved into the text.  You claim all this was your own research and knowledge?”  Erik challenged, clearly unwilling to back down.</p>
<p>“I happen to have a doctorate in history from Oxford.  Is that acceptable?”  Charles said flatly.</p>
<p>Erik paused.  Charles watched him, his face so devoid of any trace of soft emotion and wondered what could possibly happen next.</p>
<p>What happened was Erik took a long step closer to him and Charles was forced to crane his neck and look upward to hold Erik’s gaze.</p>
<p>“Despite my apprehensions about romantic fiction, and my doubts in your ability to repeat the deft skill you displayed in this manuscript, I would like to offer you a contract with Eisenhardt Publishing.  A better offer than Miss frost initially proposed – a six book deal.  It pains me to admit, but this book will sell and sell well.”</p>
<p>“If you think I am going to accept a contract from a man who has insulted me, insulted my writing, and insulted my basic intelligence, you are sorely mistaken Mr. Lehnsherr.”  Charles spat out, his anger barely contained. “At this point I wouldn’t accept your offer if you were the only publisher in England.  But you are not.”</p>
<p>Erik leaned forward, and for a moment, when his eyes flicked down to Charles’ mouth, Charles thought he was about to be kissed.  And for that moment he wanted it – to let all the pent up lust and anger and passion out in one explosive kiss.  Except, what would really come of that? </p>
<p>Instead, Charles shot his hand forward and snatched his manuscript out of Erik’s grip, and took two quick steps backwards into his living room.</p>
<p>“You should leave, Mr. Lehnsherr.”  Charles said as calmly and clearly as he could. “We have nothing more to discuss.”</p>
<p>Erik stood still for several minutes, silent, his brow furrowed.  Charles thought he looked rather stunned, as if no one had ever said no to him in his life.  </p>
<p>Surprisingly, Erik turned abruptly and walked to the door, apparently accepting Charles’ declaration.  He exited Charles’ home without another word.</p>
<p>Charles peaked out his window and watched Erik walk slowly down his quiet little street. Erik turned back and Charles was caught looking.  They stared at each other, Erik’s eyes haunted in the pale light of the London street lamps. </p>
<p>It felt like the moment on the tube, but more.  More weighted, more complicated, more desperate.  Feeling his heart pound and to prick of tears behind his eyes, Charles let the curtain fall, finally blocking Erik from view.</p>
<p>Charles wondered back to his living room and sank down onto his couch.</p>
<p>Had he just ruined his entire career?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I cannot believe he accused you of plagiarism!? I just cannot believe the gall of that man!” Kitty muttered.</p>
<p>“It was rather shocking.” Charles admitted.</p>
<p>“That is the height of understatement.” Kitty said, giving Charles a pointed look from behind her desk. “I’ve sent out a dozen packages.” Kitty declared. “We’re bound to hear from someone soon.”</p>
<p>Charles was glad Kitty could be positive. He was immensely grateful that she’d been so supportive. She’d been appalled on his behalf and immediately contacted Miss Frost to inform her they were no longer interested in working with Eisenhardt publishing.</p>
<p>It should have made him satisfied, but it didn’t.</p>
<p>Charles replayed Erik’s words from that night over and over in his head. At home, he kept staring at the manuscript he’d torn away from the other man that night – it was still sitting in his living room – and wondering what all the sticky notes meant. He desperately wanted to open it up and read Erik’s comments, though he also wanted to throw the whole thing in the fire and watch it burn.</p>
<p>All in all, despite Kitty’s determination to find an alternate publisher for his novel, Charles felt adrift. He should have wanted to find a new publisher. He should have wanted to be able to shove the success of finding a new publisher in Erik’s face. He should have wanted to enact revenge.</p>
<p>He didn’t.</p>
<p>He wanted to understand how a man who had insulted him so badly, could also have given him some genuine compliments about his work. He couldn’t seem to let it go – the enigma that was Erik Lehnsherr. Apparently Charles had a type – men who were living contradictions.</p>
<p>He should have been focused. He should have been excited to move on. He should have been writing up a storm, fuelled by fury and revenge and hate. Instead, he couldn’t even fathom sitting at his desk in his writing nook. He walked through the parks, he sat on the tube, but inspiration didn’t come. The words had run dry.</p>
<p>He could only hope one of Kitty’s inquiries would prove fruitful. Surely what he needed now was a little good news. A little bit of positivity should get him out of his funk – it simply had too.</p>
<hr/>
<p>“Were you in some sort of serious accident this weekend?” Emma Frost asked as she stepped into his office. “Did you suffer a head injury?”</p>
<p>“No to both.” Erik scowled. “You must have heard some inaccurate gossip.”</p>
<p>“I didn’t.” Emma glared, arms crossed. “I have it on good authority that you lost us the deal with Mr. Xavier by being an absolute asshole. A head injury is clearly the only explanation for why you stuck your foot so far up your own ass!”</p>
<p>“I made a misstep.” Erik grumbled, looking down at his desk.</p>
<p>“You, sugar, just made the most boneheaded business decision of your career.” Emma said, brow arched. “What were you thinking?”</p>
<p>“I had some questions, some doubts, about the novel -”</p>
<p>“You should have come to me, Erik!” Emma cried, stomping one white heel on the floor. “I am the one who scouted this manuscript. I am the one who looked into the author and spoke to his agent. I could have answered your questions. I could have told you where else he’s been published – his entire history! What in God’s name made you go to his house and insult him?”</p>
<p>Erik didn’t know how to begin to explain his actions. Everything Emma said was true – he should have gone to her with his questions, and in the past that is exactly what he’d always done. But this past weekend, he had to see Charles. He’d needed to see the look on his face, he’d needed to know that every word of the novel had been his. He’d needed to see those blue eyes; he’d felt if he could just look into Charles’ eyes he would know – know if Charles was the creator of this stunning work.</p>
<p>“I will fix -”</p>
<p>“You can’t fix this, Erik.” Emma interrupted. “You ruined it. His agent was completely clear about that. They have no interest in dealing with Eisenhardt publishing. They’ve sent the manuscript elsewhere. It’s over.”</p>
<p>Emma swept out of the room, though her disapproval lingered.</p>
<p>She was right – Erik had ruined things with Charles and his novel. But he would not let things end like this; he was far too stubborn to give up now. That novel was right for Eisenhardt publishing; it could make them a fortune.</p>
<p>But perhaps more importantly, Erik wanted to see Charles again. He wanted to see the fire in those big blue eyes. He wanted to see the smaller man in one of those oversized sweaters, with his chestnut hair all ruffled, looking cozy and inviting and irresistible.</p>
<p>Somehow, someway, he was going to make this better.  He would get Charles Xavier to talk to him again.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Charles wasn’t exactly proud of the fact that he’d run from his problems, but it seemed to have had the desired effect, so he couldn’t feel <i>too</i> guilty.</p>
<p>His trip to one of the Xavier estates (he’d chosen a rather small one in the wilds Yorkshire) had been quiet and serene; completely removed from his typical London lifestyle. There had been a few moments when he’d almost stopped mulling over his interactions with Erik, like when he’d decided to swim in the freezing cold lake on the property. He’d even sat at a desk and written one afternoon and the words had flowed out, he’d stuttered at times, but the ideas had continued and when the sun had set and he set down his pen, he’d had a beginning. One he was not ashamed of; one he could imagine continuing.</p>
<p>A successful trip by any standard.</p>
<p>But now he was back on the familiar streets of Hampstead and headed to his favourite bookshop in the whole world – a little local place, on a hidden side street that was a book lovers dream. At least Charles thought so. The place was filled with hidden nooks and crannies, stacks of used books upon stacks of used books litter the floors, as the bookshelves themselves had been filled long ago. Charles adored every bit of the place.</p>
<p>Entering the shop and seeing Sarah, a friendly, familiar face, Charles couldn’t help but smile.</p>
<p>“Anything new, Sarah?” Charles asked, approaching the front desk.</p>
<p>“We had someone stop by two desk ago who donated a significant collection. Some lovely books of Edwardian illustrations.” Sarah answered immediately.</p>
<p>“Oh, I do love Lady Holden… there wouldn’t happen to be any of her books, would there?” Charles inquired, trying to tamp down his excitement.</p>
<p>“I set three aside for you.” Sarah grinned and Charles felt his own smile wide in return.</p>
<p>“Thank you so much, my dear. I’ll just browse a bit today – I’m sure I can find something to add to the pile.”</p>
<p>“Of course.” Sarah nodded. “Oh, there’s been a man in here every day this week looking for you. He came in a few minutes ago, I think he’s digging through the biography section at the back.”</p>
<p>“How mysterious!” Charles replied. “It’s like a treasure hunt.”</p>
<p>Charles heard Sarah laughing as he turned and headed for the back of the shop. Perhaps his old school friend Hank was in town. It had been several years since they’d been able to meet face to face and it would be wonderful to catch up.</p>
<p>Charles felt his pace pick up, the anticipation of possibly seeing an old friend driving him to move faster. He rounded the corner to the biography section and stopped, his whole body frozen in shock.</p>
<p>It wasn’t Hank standing in front of the biography section reading the back cover of a hefty tome; it was Erik Lehnsherr, the very man he was desperately trying to forget.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Stalking, really?” Charles got out after his initial shock. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d stoop so low.”</p><p>“You really don’t know me very well.” Erik replied, placing the biography, a hefty book on William Shakespeare, carefully back on the shelf.</p><p>“You don’t know me well either, and yet you accused me of plagiarism.” Charles bit out caustically.</p><p>“That was an… error.” Erik said stiffly.</p><p>“Was that an apology?” Charles arched a brow. “If so, it may have been the most pathetic attempt I have ever had the displeasure of witnessing.”</p><p>“I was not done.”</p><p>“Oh, well. Then by all means, please continue.” Charles motioned with a hand and waited.</p><p>Erik looked as serious and unyielding as ever. Standing straight and tall and proud, and making Charles wish, though not for the first time, that he had had one more growth spurt in his teens that would have put him on more equal footing to the man across from him. Instead, as always, he had to look up to meet Erik’s turbulent eyes.</p><p>And he waited. And waited.</p><p>“I shouldn’t have said what I did that night.” Erik finally said. “Your novel… it took me by surprise. I have dealt with manuscripts in the past that were not what they were presented to be. Perhaps my past influenced my reaction and my words to you that night – that is not excuse for what I said. I… I apologize for the unfounded accusations I made.”</p><p>Charles stood, head slightly cocked to one side, wondering if Erik had ever tried to apologize to anyone before in his life.</p><p>“I accept your apology, though I feel I must add there is still great room for improvement in your technique.” Charles replied.</p><p>“You accept my apology?” Erik raised his eyebrows. “Does that mean you’re willing to work with Eisenhardt publishing?”</p><p>“Certainly not.”</p><p>“But you accepted my apology.”</p><p>“I did.” Charles nodded. “I accept that you feel remorse over your words and I appreciate you acknowledging you were wrong. That does not mean I want to work with a man who cannot control his own temper. I simply cannot trust that you, or Eisenhardt publishing has my best interest at heart as an author. How could I? You have been quite unprofessional and reactionary. I will continue to look for representation elsewhere.”</p><p>Erik frowned deeply and then stepped forward.</p><p>“May I buy you lunch?”</p><p>Charles’ mouth feel open in shock. There was no understanding this man.</p><p>“I have made myself quite clear. I am not interested in a business lunch –“</p><p>“Not a business lunch.” Erik interjected. “A lunch. An apology lunch. Just two people sitting down to eat, while one them tries to make up for being an absolute asshole.”</p><p>Charles should have said no. He should have said <i>‘fuck off, you insufferably oaf’.</i></p><p>“Yes.” Charles said, despite the voices in his head shouting at him. “I am particularly fond of L’Antica.”</p>
<hr/><p>Erik made a valiant effort not to stare, but it was impossible.  Somehow the man across from him had eaten an entire pizza on his own, making obscene noises of pleasure the entire time, and his was now licking his fingers one by one. If Erik wasn’t certain Charles detested him, he would have thought he was trying to be seductive.</p><p>“You truly enjoyed your meal.”  He said, hoping he didn’t sound as aroused as he felt.</p><p>“I was sick a few months ago, some sort of terrible flu.  Couldn’t even keep a cup of tea down. I looked quite dreadful when it was all said and done - lost over a stone.”  Charles explained. “Once I recovered, I suppose I had a new appreciation for the culinary arts.”</p><p>“You were sick?”  Erik frowned, finding he did not like the idea of Charles wasting away from illness at all. “For how long?”</p><p>“Oh, not too terribly long.”  Charles shrugged. “I was quite worn out by it all, but in the end all the hours spent at home recovering helped me write.  If not for the illness, who knows if I ever would have written my manuscript.”</p><p>“You are an unflagging optimist.”  Erik said, not quite able to keep the censure from his voice.</p><p>“And you are not.”  Charles grinned, taking a drink of his lemon water.</p><p>“No.”  Erik agreed, meeting Charles’ grin with one of his own.</p><p>“Surely you must have some optimism for your company?” Charles prodded with a playful smile. “You’ve come all this way to London – you must have a great many goals.”</p><p>“A have goals, yes. Plans. I look for all possible avenues for failure – it helps us steer clear of potential pot holes.  Business is not an arena for trusting naive fools, Mr. Xavier.”</p><p>“I have been one such pot hole, have I not?” Charles asked.</p><p>“I am hoping we can smooth things over.” Erik offered. “Perhaps we won’t be doing business – I can respect that.  But your manuscript, and you, yourself… have caught my interest.  If you can forgive me, if you really have, then I would like the chance to be… friends.”</p><p>“Friends?”  Charles arched a brow.</p><p>“I am new to London.  I could use a guide.”</p><p>“And here I thought you knew the city well.  You somehow found my favourite bookshop after all.”  Charles smirked.</p><p>“Process of elimination.”</p><p>“You visited all the bookshops in the area and asked for me, then?  Like an errant suitor?”  Charles grinned again, clearly enjoying himself far too much.</p><p>“No.”  Erik grumbled. “I was far more subtle than that.”</p><p>Honestly, Charles’ description of his search was far more accurate than Erik would like it to be, but he wasn’t about to admit to that. No one ever needed to know that he had visited every bookshop in Hampstead, Belsize Park, and Highgate looking for one that ‘felt’ like something Charles would like.  It had been one of the most out of character escapades of his entire life.</p><p>“Of course you were.” Charles merely grinned wider.  “Shall I take you to all the typical tourist haunts, then?  We could visit the Crown Jewels, Madame Tussauds, walk across Abbey Road while dodging traffic, ride the London eye...”</p><p>“I have no interest in doing any of those things.” Erik scowled. “Show me the real London.  Show me the London you love.”</p><p>For a moment, a very long moment in Erik’s estimation, Charles was silent, spinning his glass in his hand and not meeting Erik’s eyes.  Erik didn’t want to lose his opportunity for a second chance, he didn’t want to leave this restaurant today without a plan to see Charles again, so he waited.  He prided himself on only tapping his fingers in impatience on the table twice before catching himself and stopping.</p><p>While waiting for Charles to answer, their plates were cleared and Erik paid the bill, though Charles insisted on giving him cash to cover his meal.</p><p>“Meet me tomorrow, 9am.”  Charles said, finally giving Erik the answer he so desperately wanted.</p><p>“Where?”  Erik asked, feeling relieved and hopeful.</p><p>“Hampstead Heath. Parliament Hill.”</p><p>“I’ll be there.”  Erik confirmed as they exited the restaurant.</p><p>After saying a quick goodbye, Erik smiled as he walked off, content with the knowledge that he would be seeing Charles again.</p><p>“Erik!”  Charles’ voice called out from behind him and Erik turned with a frown. “Do bring a swimming costume.”</p><p>
  <i>What the fuck would he need a ‘swimming costume’ for at 9 in the morning? </i>
</p><p>Before Erik could think to voice his question, Charles turned the corner and disappeared.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The skies were overcast and a misty fog hung over the landscape as Erik climbed toward the top of Parliament Hill.  Dew clung to the grass and Erik could feel the moisture sinking into his shoes, making him grimace with every step.</p>
<p>He was just starting to question why he had even suggested this scheme, when he crested the hill and saw Charles, hands tucked into navy blue pea coat, his chestnut hair waving around in the breeze, standing at the top of Parliament Hill.  Charles.  That was why he was doing this.  </p>
<p>When Charles turned and smiled at him, any doubts Erik might have had vanished.  Making things up to Charles, getting to know him was worth the effort, though given the twinkle in Charles’ eye as he lead them down the hill and along a path, Erik had a feeling his efforts had only begun.</p>
<p>Charles chatted amiably about the weather (Erik stated it was miserable, Charles said it was a ‘lovely fall day’), pointed out the view (almost completely obscured by the fog), and extolled the virtues of fresh air (it smelled of rotten leaves and muck, which hardly seemed virtuous to Erik).</p>
<p>He then stopped by the side of a small lake, or perhaps a very large pond and smiled happily at Erik.  Erik scowled for a moment before he saw the sign in front of him: “Men’s Bathing Pond”.</p>
<p>“You’re insane.  You are, without a doubt, completely off your rocker if you think I’m going to swim in that.” Erik said.</p>
<p>“It’s refreshing.” Charles smiled at him.</p>
<p>Erik scowled.  Charles was clearly enjoying his surprise outing far too much.  </p>
<p>“It’s the end of October and you think I am going to swim outdoors, in a murky pond, because its ‘refreshing’.”</p>
<p>“I hardly had you pegged as a man afraid of a little cold water.”  Charles challenged. “You wanted to see ‘my London’, well, this is part of it.  I swim here at least twice a week.  A little discomfort makes us appreciate the little niceties of life all the more, don’t you think?”</p>
<p>“No.”  Erik grumbled. “But I am hardly afraid of a little cold water.”</p>
<p>“Excellent.”  Charles smiled, rubbing his hands together. “Shall we?”</p>
<p>Erik let Charles lead the way into the men’s changing area, willing to let Charles and his blue eyes lead him almost anywhere.</p>
<p>Exiting the warmth of the changing area, feeling the nip of the cool autumn air, Erik was struck yet again by the absurdity of this outing.  A long list of protests formed in his mind as he stepped onto the dock leading to the water, but all his objections disappeared when he set eyes on Charle and the long expanse of white freckled skin, practically glowing in the hazy morning light.  Charles looked like work of art; too perfect to be real.</p>
<p>Swimming suddenly seemed like the best idea ever.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Swimming with Erik had seemed like the ideal way to knock the man down a peg; take him out, surprise him, dunk him in cold water and watch him shrivel up and regret his offer to have Charles show him around London.  Instead, Charles had been faced with Erik’s perfectly tanned and sculpted torso for the better part of an hour and had been far too happy to jump into the freezing water to preserve his own dignity.  The sight of a nearly naked Erik may have been the most arousing thing he seen all year by far.</p>
<p>The image lingered, of course, haunting his dreams and suffusing his every fantasy.  He wanted to touch the lean planes of Erik’s torso, lick the defined lines of his abs, and bite his nipples.  He wanted to give those swimming trunks a tug and see what was underneath. He desperately want to wrap his lips around Erik’s cock and suck. He wanted…</p>
<p>He wanted to stop to stop obsessing over Erik Lehnsherr.</p>
<p>Worse than Erik’s perfect body, as physically perfect as it was, was the man himself.  Erik was sharp: he had a dry wit and a thorough understanding of literature, politics, and history.  He was willing to try anything, no matter what Charles threw his way.  Over the past week, they had attended a musical (which Erik had surprisingly enjoyed), eaten haggis (Erik had not enjoyed this culinary adventure), and walked for hours through the Tate Modern, conversation hoping easily from topic to topic.  Erik was a man of carefully contain passion. He carried himself as a hard man, a man of numbers and profits, but not far beneath the surface was a man with a beating heart who cared very deeply about a wide variety of issues.  He never conceded easily in a discussion, but he also listened attentively to Charles' points.  He may not have agreed with a good many things Charles said, but he always respected him, and sadly Charles had not experienced that kind of treatment from another man for some time.</p>
<p>It was intoxicating.</p>
<p>To find the man behind the stunning face that had initially caught his attention was just as interesting and unforgettable seemed almost unfair.</p>
<p>Charles had purposefully set there next London tour ‘date’ off for a week, hoping to take a step back, and rid himself of this unending attraction to an inappropriate man. A man who had insulted him, though that now seemed so long ago Charles found it hard to hold it against him, particularly since his recent actions had been so altered.  A man who spent time with him, but showed not one iota of romantic interest.</p>
<p>He knew he was guilty of falling for the ‘idea’ of a person – Raven had lectured him on it enough in the past.  It felt different with Erik, deeper and almost inevitable.  He had had an idea of the man Erik would be all those months ago; he’d thought he would be kind, attentive, intelligent.  The type of man who would drink wine at dinner, talk about English literature like a professor and deny liking cats, yet always be petting them whenever one came by.  As far as he could tell now, Erik did not match any of his preconceived notions, and yet his desire for the other man continued unabated.</p>
<p>Riding the tube into Kitty’s office today hadn’t helped.  Memories of the first time he’d spotted Erik, in a perfectly tailored suit, flooding his mind. Jostling his way out of the station during the morning rush was almost a relief, it stole his focus away and by the time he climbed his way up to Kitty’s office, he had his mind on his writing and his writing alone.</p>
<p>“You have news?”  Charles said, slightly breathless from his rush up the stairs.</p>
<p>“I do.”  Kitty grinned. “We have another offer.”</p>
<p>“Oh thank goodness.”  Charles slumped in relief in his seat.</p>
<p>Perhaps his newfound success would banish any and all the ridiculous thoughts he’d had recently of giving Eisenhardt publishing (and Erik himself) another chance.</p>
<p>“Who’s made the offer this time?”  Charles asked, eager to move forward.</p>
<p>“It’s a new name for me, though the publishing house is very well known.” Kitty began. “I’m pleased to say you have been offered a book deal with Independence Press, by one Sebastian Shaw.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you to everyone who is reading.  Particular thanks to all of those who leave kudos and comments.  I cannot begin to tell you how much the comments mean to me during this chaotic times.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The Independence Press offices were sleek and modern; all floor to ceiling window, exposed steel beams and monochromatic furniture.  Charles did his best not to wrinkle his nose in distaste – modern architecture and design had its place and could be quite stunning – but he found the space hard, cold and uninviting.  It felt as if someone had designed the interior merely to make people feel small.  </p>
<p>He could not help but long for the comfort of his study; the bookshelves that filled every wall, the thick carpet he could sink his toes into that covered the centuries old hardwood which creaked with every step. The odd comfort of knowing he was neither the first man, nor would he be the last, to use this study, this house.  He was a part of the home, of its history, but it had had so many stories unfold within its walls, and many more to come.  There was such comfort there.</p>
<p>He found no comfort within the walls of Independence Press.</p>
<p>His stomach in knots, he walked into the office of Sebastian Shaw with Kitty.  They sat down across from a very well dressed middle-aged man who smiled at them broadly.</p>
<p>“Mr. Xavier, Ms. Pryde.” Shaw beamed wider. “What a pleasure to have you here.  I cannot begin to say what a delight it was to have your manuscript cross my desk.”</p>
<p>“Thank you, Mr. Shaw.”  Charles smiled tightly, feeling the force of Shaw’s enthusiasm which did not sit well.</p>
<p>“You’ve written something that will sell, Mr. Xavier.  Marketing will have to be clever, but I have no doubt my team is up to the task.” Shaw smiled again, calculating and offputting. “I like to meet authors in person, get a sense of their personal marketability. You’re young – that’s a plus.  You’ll need a bit of a makeover – more flattering clothes, a better haircut, cover those freckles with some make-up - but we have people for that.  What’s your social media profile like?”</p>
<p>“My social media profile?”  Charles repeated, puzzled.</p>
<p>“You have Twitter, Instagram?”</p>
<p>“I can’t say that I do.”  Charles frowned.</p>
<p>He never been particularly interested in social media.  He had a Facebook account (who didn’t?) that he seldom used, an extensive Pinterest page that he used to catalogue inspiration for his novels, and he was part of a small online chat group for erotic novelists.  Otherwise, Charles preferred to keep his contact with others based in the real world.  He may have been old fashioned, but he had many a friend who greatly appreciated his dedication to letter writing and sending gift packages.</p>
<p>“We have a team for that as well.”  Shaw said, rubbing his hands together. “We shall mould you into the author of the moment.  I have no doubt we shall see your name on the New York Times best sellers list.”</p>
<p>Charles smiled wanly in return and gave Kitty a sideways glance.  Her eyes were round as saucers and she was nodding along with Shaw, apparently enthralled. He felt himself soften as Shaw kept talking and Kitty continued to nod along enthusiastically.  This meeting, this opportunity, wasn’t just about him; it was about Kitty too, and she was clearly smitten.</p>
<p>For the remainder of the meeting, Charles kept his focus on Kitty and making a choice that would benefit them both.  An hour later he had a contract offer to take home and read, plus a promise from Sebastian that he would courier over a package with edits of the manuscript by the end of the week.</p>
<p>Arriving home, the sun long since set and the darkness of a late fall evening blanketing the city, Charles sat on his couch, nursing a cup of tea.  He told himself he was contemplating Shaw’s offer; it was a huge life decision.  He told himself his feelings of dislike for the man were unfounded, that he was being paranoid.  Shaw’s enthusiasm had seemed fake and contrived to him, but not to Kitty.  His focus on the bottom line and Charles’ marketability had felt like a rejection of who Charles was, but book selling was a business and the man could not be faulted for knowing his business.</p>
<p>The truth of the matter was, no matter how many times he turned his worries over and over in his mind,  his mind was partly fixated on something else.  It was thinking of how Shaw was not Erik.  How he had  talking about Charles’ appearance and his book sales, while Erik had believed Charles’ book would sell, but he’d also admitted it was well written, he had said the historical events were well integrated into the narrative, and those complements had meant so much more than sales projections to Charles.</p>
<p>As the night worn on and Charles remained seated on his couch, no closer to understanding his thoughts and feelings, his eyes kept drifting to the manuscript he had snatched out of Erik’s hands, the one full of post it notes.  His hands itched and his mind wondered.</p>
<p>He didn’t pick it up.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Erik knew many people thought he had little skill at reading other people and their emotions. They were wrong. He simply seldom acted on his knowledge; people were so often not worth the effort.</p>
<p>Charles was worth his effort, and Erik was absolutely certain something was bothering him.</p>
<p>Erik had been anticipating this London outing all week. He’d found despite their short acquaintance, he’d missed seeing Charles. He’d missed his optimism, his insights about the city and its history, his pleasure in all of the life’s unexpected moments.</p>
<p>But today, Charles was off. He’d picked at his food over lunch. As they’d walked through the streets of Richmond, he hadn’t stopped to pet the dogs they’d passed. Charles must have known he was acting strange and that Erik had noticed, because when they arrived at Kew Garden’s he threw himself into conversation with a vigour that seemed borderline manic.</p>
<p>Erik wanted to know what had happened. He wished he felt he could ask. It was unlike him to hesitate, he general took on problem head on, but with Charles… he didn’t want to make another misstep. He didn’t want to lose any of the trust they had built over the past few weeks.</p>
<p>He held his tongue much longer than he would have thought possible.</p>
<p>“Has something happened?” He finally blurted out as they entered the Palm House.</p>
<p>“Oh.”  Charles frowned, stuffing his hands in his pockets and shuffling his feet. “I… Kitty and I are...”  Charles released a breath, lifted his head and looked at Erik. “We received another offer for my book.”</p>
<p>“Congratulations.”  Erik said.</p>
<p>He meant it.  Charles’ book deserved to find its audience.  He wished Eisenhardt Publishing was the one to bring the book to the public, to share Charles’ talent, but he found himself glad for Charles’ success nonetheless. </p>
<p>“But you’re not happy?”  Erik prodded.</p>
<p>“I’m cautious.”  Charles corrected. “The deal seems good.”</p>
<p>“You’ve had a lawyer look it over?”  Erik jumped in, his mind immediately switching to business.</p>
<p>“Of course.”  Charles scoffed. “There are some perks of coming from a well heeled family; one of them is having a law firm that has worked for our family for generations.”</p>
<p>“Speaking openly about your wealth?  How uncouth of you, Charles.”  Erik smirked. “If the deal is good, why the hesitancy?”</p>
<p>“Kitty and I are in disagreement about the publishing house, and the representative we met in particular.  She saw nothing but positives, I however...”  Charles paused and frowned again. “I did not like the man.  I cannot quite put my finger on it, what it was about him that caused me to feel apprehensive, but the feeling remains.”</p>
<p>Erik was not the type to let someone’s personality interfere with a business deal, and publishing a book was a business deal.  He wanted to say just that to Charles - focus on the numbers, not the man – but he knew that wasn’t the right thing to say.  He didn’t want Charles to jeopardize his chances of publication over something trivial, but he also respected that Charles wanted to work with a person he could trust.</p>
<p>“Could you work with another editor?  It should be relatively simple to ask for a transfer.”  Erik suggested.</p>
<p>“That would be an excellent suggestion, however, the man I am currently working with is the head of branch, like yourself.  I believe he is quite determined to keep any success that may come from my work attached to him personally. Perhaps that is the reason for my dislike.”  Charles shrugged. “Our priorities are different: he wants to make money and sell some sort of packaged ‘image’, while I just want to tell a good story and share it.”</p>
<p>Erik felt a prickling sensation climb his spine as Charles spoke.  There was something about his words, about the way he described the man, that had the hairs on his neck standing on end.</p>
<p>“Sebastian Shaw.”  He said. “Sebastian Shaw made you an offer.”</p>
<p>Charles’ head popped up. “You know him.”</p>
<p>“The publishing world is small.  We’ve crossed paths before.”  Erik said. </p>
<p>“And you’re opinion of the man?”  Charles asked.</p>
<p>“The man knows his business.”  Erik replied abruptly and then began walking.</p>
<p>He turned the conversation to his brief time living in Los Angeles (a horrible mistake, the city had not suited him at all) and the palms that had grown everywhere.  He spoke about the horror that was beaches filled with people, the endless lines of traffic that never seemed to move, and the insufferable heat.  Charles laughed and joked about his inability to be in direct sunlight without turning approximately the same colour as a tomato.  </p>
<p>They walked.  Erik bought Charles more food, which he now gobbled up like a man starved.  As they entered the nearest tube station, they chatted easily, making plans for another London tour, one that Charles said would be ‘magical’.  Erik frowned at the ridiculous description, while Charles grinned.</p>
<p>Somehow, Erik refrained from kissing Charles on his ridiculously red lips.  He also stopped himself from telling Charles to tell Shaw to take his book deal and shove it up his ass.</p>
<p>He paced his living room that night.  He almost picked up the phone to call Charles half a dozen times to warn him about Shaw.  He very nearly called Emma to declare he was having a crisis of conscious, but decided she wouldn’t believe him.</p>
<p>Sebastian Shaw.  Why did it have to be Sebastian Shaw?  Of all the publishing houses in London, it had to be Shaw and Independence Press who offered Charles a deal, the man who had betrayed Erik so many years ago.  Erik didn’t trust Shaw. Once he had, but not now.  He hadn’t been lying when he’d told Charles Shaw knew his business; Shaw had always known how to sell books.  That he was willing to be an underhanded as possible to make a profit was also true.</p>
<p>He didn’t want Charles mixed up with the man, but he had to trust Charles to make his own decisions.  It had been years since Shaw had deceived him, and Erik had not heard any rumours that he’d pulled the same scheme in the years since.  It was possible he would do well by Charles and his work.  Maybe.</p>
<p>Erik stayed up past midnight looking into legal loopholes that might allow Charles to get out of a book deal, should he need to do so.  </p>
<p>He feel asleep at his desk and woke with a terrible crick in his neck and a pounding headache.</p>
<p>He stretched and showered.  Than he called Emma; it was time to call in the troops.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The package arrived on Monday morning.  It was later than Shaw had initially promised, another strike against him in Charles’ estimation, as Charles was rather a stickler for always keeping his word and meeting deadlines.  Charles unwrapped the package quickly and efficiently; he simply had to know what Shaw’s notes contained.</p>
<p>His first impression, manuscript in hand, was that it looked exactly the same as when he had left it on Shaw’s desk.  There were no sticky notes peaking out from between the pages, the spine wasn’t cracked as if the manuscript had been read over and over.  Charles couldn’t keep his eyes from roaming over to where Erik’s copy of the manuscript lay, displaying all the features missing in Shaw’s copy.</p>
<p>He sighed and shook his head; he had to move forward.  He opened the manuscript, started flipping pages, and finally found Shaw’s first note.  With a notepad on the table beside him, he started making brief notes of his reactions, seriously taking on the job of editing the book, and pushing Erik and his feedback as far from his mind as he could.</p>
<hr/>
<p>“Spill.”</p>
<p>Erik lifted his head and looked up at a very determined looking Emma Frost.  He stayed silent.</p>
<p>“You have me digging up dirt on Shaw – not that I mind, I’d love to bring the man down, as you well know – but I deserve to know why we’re doing this now.  So spill.”  Emma crossed her arms and glared, and as much as Erik wanted to keep his secrets he knew Emma would refuse to continue helping if he didn’t reveal at least part of the truth.</p>
<p>“Someone of my acquaintance has been offered a deal by Shaw.  I am, understandably, concerned.” Erik hedged.</p>
<p>“And which acquaintance would that be?”  Emma asked icily. “Because its not an acquaintance I know about – I’ve already asked everyone I could think of if they’d had any recent interactions with Shaw and no one is talking.”</p>
<p>“It’s a new acquaintance.” Erik muttered.</p>
<p>Emma stared at him with such intensity that Erik thought she was trying to read his mind, or see into his soul.  He glared and crossed his own arms over his chest.</p>
<p>“Charles Xavier.  Shaw picked up Xavier’s book.”</p>
<p>“How the fuck do you do that?” Erik grumbled.</p>
<p>“You don’t have any ‘new’ acquaintances, sugar.”  Emma shrugged. “And the only person you have been remotely interested in since you moved here, either for business or pleasure, is Xavier.”  Emma paused, sitting down gracefully in a chair across from Erik. “So, how do you know about the offer?”</p>
<p>“Charles told me.” Erik admitted.</p>
<p>“Charles, hmm.”  Emma remarked. “And when did he become your Charles?”</p>
<p>Erik scowled across the desk at Emma’s smirking face and gleeful eyes.</p>
<p>“He is not ‘my’ Charles.”  Erik retorted. “I apologized to him for my behaviour,” Erik frowned at Emma’s open surprise, but then continued, “and he accepted.  He’s been showing me around London the last few weeks. I suppose you might say we’re friends.”</p>
<p>Emma grinned.  It was the type of satisfied grin you might see when a child managed to get two servings of dessert, or a cat caught a canary.</p>
<p>“And you want to save your new friend from Shaw’s clutches.”</p>
<p>“I don’t want him to be screwed over by Shaw.”</p>
<p>“Xavier’s smart, and more capable of saying no than a great many new authors.” Emma commented. “I doubt he’ll be duped,  but if you’re concerned about Shaw, just tell Xavier.  He could certainly use all the information on Shaw to be out in the open.”</p>
<p>Erik opened his mouth to speak, but immediately closed it.  He had no reasonable excuses for why he hadn’t told Charles the truth, aside from his experience with Shaw being impossible to prove aside from his own account.</p>
<p>“Ah, I see.” Emma said. “You’re afraid.”</p>
<p>“I’m not -”</p>
<p>“You are.” Emma cut in. “Listen to me, Erik: tell him.  If you want to have a relationship with this man – and don’t think for a second I am buying this ‘just friends’ business – you have to be honest.  You cannot hide things.”</p>
<p>“There’s no evidence.  Shaw covered his tracks.” Erik grumbled.</p>
<p>“Tell him what happened between you and Shaw.” Emma instructed. “I have pages of rumours and salacious gossip about Shaw, but that’s it.  The man is an asshole, and somehow, maybe not today, but eventually, he will screw Xavier over.”</p>
<p>Emma was right and Erik knew it.  He simply couldn’t let Charles sign a contract with that man and sit around and wait to see how Shaw would manipulate the situation to his own advantage.</p>
<p>He spent the rest of the afternoon coming up with what he thought was a level-headed, yet persuasive speech about Shaw’s history of questionable behaviour in the publishing industry, with a particular focus on his own experiences with the man.  He could only hope Charles would listen to him.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Charles put the manuscript down and tried to compose himself, but it was difficult.  There was so much to digest; so many comments, so many possibilities to consider.  His mind whirled.  He sat on the couch and thought, and thought.  Should he take the feedback?  He had dragged the progression of the plot out a bit to allow more time for the characters to develop a deep and meaningful relationship… perhaps he did need to reconsider the early momentum of the novel and pick it up a notch.  Was the ending too vague?  He himself disliked how many fictionalized accounts of gay love had tragic endings, he hardly wanted to perpetuate such a horrid trend.  He could perhaps show a moment, a snapshot of a happy future.</p>
<p>There was a part of him that knew he shouldn’t be considering the changes; they weren’t Shaw’s notes after all.  He should be devoting himself to Shaw’s feedback, and maybe he would, if only Shaw had had anything of interest to say.  Aside from a handful of small corrections, a request to extend an action scene, and a note that one of the main characters ‘didn’t sound physically attractive enough’, Shaw had had little to say.  There had been a small note for ‘further discussion’ at every sex scene that had Charles concerned that Shaw wasn’t a fan of his ability to write an emotionally meaningful sexual encounter, but then, the notes were so cryptic it was difficult to tell.</p>
<p>Instead, he had picked up the manuscript he’d given Erik and been swept away.  He wanted to talk to the man.  He wanted to yell at him for claiming the illegitimate son of the duke was ‘unrealistically good looking’ considering he had based the man on Erik himself.  He wanted to fight with him about how to fix the sluggish plot.  He wanted to ask Erik what he thought a ‘truly romantic’ ending would be.  He wanted to drag Erik to his bedroom and re-enact said romantic ending.</p>
<p>He was just about to finally put the manuscript down, when a small piece of paper fluttered out.  Charles picked it up, curious.  Unlike all the other notes which were written on various post-it style papers in a variety of colours, this note was on lined paper.  It almost looked like an after thought, or a paper mistakenly left within the pages of the manuscript.</p>
<p>Except written on the paper were less than a dozen words that shot straight to Charles’ heart: <i>“I wish I could have read this as gay teenager.”</i></p>
<p>Charles felt as if time slowed. It was suddenly a bit harder to breath and the note in his hands trembled in his grasp, but he stared and stared and stared, as if the moment he took his eyes off the words they might disappear.</p>
<p>When the sound of a sharp knock on his door sounded a few moments later, he placed the note carefully back between the pages of the manuscript before standing and heading to the door.</p>
<p>Opening the door only made him feel even more dazed, because Erik was standing there.  And just like the last time he’d arrived unexpectedly at his door, Erik walked right in and started talking.  Charles wasn’t listening to his words, he was far to distracted by the firm line of his lips, and the furrow of Erik’s brow.  </p>
<p>The words on the note, Erik’s words, the most profoundly moving reader response to his work he had ever laid eyes on, echoed through his mind, through his soul, and suddenly he knew what to do.</p>
<p>He leaned up, as high as he could on his toes, placed a hand firmly behind Erik’s neck and kissed him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I would like to start by apologizing for such a long delay in posting this chapter.  I have done what I tend to do - taken on too many things and started too many ideas.</p>
<p>I want to assure you I have not forgotten this fic.  Updates will likely continue to be sporadic, but they will happen!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The kiss was intended to be a quick peck.  A simple ‘thank you’ that Charles couldn’t seem to express in words.  Maybe it would have been, but just as Charles registered the firm definition of Erik’s lips and pulled away with a sigh, Erik surged forward with a growl and suddenly they were kissing.</p>
<p>Lips, tongue, teeth clashing. Hands digging into clothes and hair, bodies flush against each other.  </p>
<p>Charles felt his back hit a solid surface and used it to push himself up, hiking his legs around Erik’s waist, and pulling their bodies somehow, impossibly, closer. Months of pent up lust released all at once, and Charles could not stop himself from moaning into Erik’s mouth, running his fingers through his hair, and sucking his tongue into his mouth.  Erik tasted perfect, he felt divine, and the little thrusts he was making, pushing his hips into Charles’ own were driving him wild. He loved the feeling of Erik’s hands wrapped around his hips and the way his fingers dug into his ass. He was overwhelmed by the silence of the encounter, nothing but the sound of harsh breathing, moans, and the brush of fabric against fabric.</p>
<p>Somehow they stumbled into the living room and Charles pushed Erik back onto the couch. Seeing him there, messy hair, chest heaving, eyes fixed on Charles’ face, Charles felt as if all his fantasies were coming to life. Now was clearly the time to indulge himself, before this all disappeared, before Erik moved on and Charles never had a chance to have him again.</p>
<p>Charles was no stranger to dropping to his knees and tugging another man’s pants off; he was more than a little fond of giving head, and he didn’t think he was being vain in saying he was rather good at it. He may not have had a multitude of partners, but the partners he’d had, had all been a bit obsessed with his mouth and seemed to feel it looked best stretched around a cock.  After some time being slightly off-put by the unexpected fixation and a long vent session that Raven, to this day, wished she could forget, Charles had devoted himself to becoming something of a blow job expert.</p>
<p>Sucking cock was something to be savoured, in Charles’ opinion, and tonight, as he freed Erik’s cock from the confines of his trousers, Charles knew he was going to enjoy every second he spent with his mouth on Erik’s dick.  It was mouth wateringly perfect; long, purple, and leaking. Charles leaned forward and dreamily laved his tongue along one side and down the other. He closed his eyes and sighed as his lips closed over the head of Erik’s cock and his intoxicating taste hit Charles’ tongue.</p>
<p>Charles lost himself in it; the taste, the texture, the sound of Erik’s sighs and moans.  It was a testament to the fact that being with Erik was obviously driving Charles a bit out of his mind, that when Erik arched, moving his hips, eventually pulling Charles’ mouth off of him and trying to pull Charles off the floor, and muttering something about wanting to ‘kiss those lips again’, Charles growled.</p>
<p>“You’ll bloody well stay still while I give you the best head of your life, you arrogant sod.” Charles commanded.</p>
<p>Then he dove back in, humming in satisfaction when Erik let out a string of filthy curses. There was something about tonight, about this moment, that Charles was determined to seize.  He hadn’t spent weeks dreaming about Erik, about The Man, to not take his time and do exactly what he wanted.  He wasn’t generally dominant in bed, in fact he’d had one short lived relationship with a man who’d derived far too much pleasure from pushing him around during sex and it had turned him off so significantly he’d never been willing to so much as experiment with blindfolds with future partners.</p>
<p>There was something about Erik; feeling the way his thighs strained against Charles’ hands as he held them down, listening to his voice become hoarse and pained as Charles took him deeper and deeper, feeling his hands wind their way into Charles’ hair, tugging and stroking by turns. It made Charles happy to take what he wanted, to ease his mouth forward and swallow Erik whole, and from the force of his reaction, Charles was sure Erik was enjoying every minute of it.</p>
<p>Feeling Erik’s cock stretch his lips and slide into his throat, Charles hummed again: this was it.  This was what he’d wanted all those nights dreaming in his bed alone; this man, he’d wanted this man. He’d thought, for so long, he’d wanted The Man to have with way with him, when in truth, what he truly wanted, was the make The Man fall apart.  Him - small, assuming, nerdy, Charles – bringing The Man, gorgeous, physically perfect, intellectually challenging Erik, to heel.</p>
<p>Charles moved, developing a strong rhythm, sucking on the head of Erik’s cock and then diving deeper, caressing Erik’s shaft with his throat.  He was going to make this man come.  He was going to make him come so hard he forgot his name.</p>
<p>When Erik came, when Charles felt his release hit his mouth, it wasn’t just the taste and sense of blissful satisfaction of pleasing a partner that thrummed through Charles’ body, it was also the stunningly erotic sound Erik made: nothing in his life had ever been so sexy as hearing his name on Erik Lehnsherr’s lips as he climaxed.</p>
<p>Charles had only a moment to bask in the glory of the moment and a millisecond to consider his own considerable discomfort (his own aching cock still tightly confined in his trousers), before Erik pounced on him like a cat, knocking him to the ground and kissing the daylights out of him.</p>
<p>He’d thought their earlier kisses had been heated; he had been mistaken. This was what he’d ben describing at those times he’d written about the heroes of his stories being ‘devoured’ and ‘plundered’. The way Erik’s tongue swept into his mouth, exploring every corner, the way his hands traveled over his body, frantically removing any piece of clothing in their way; this was he’d been writing about. This was what he’d longed for, but never experienced. He’d almost given up on it; relegating this type of passion to the realm of novels and fantasies, not real life. </p>
<p>But here it was. In Erik’s hands, his lips, his tongue, the hot heat of his breath on Charles’ neck, and the naughty, naughty words streaming out of his mouth.</p>
<p>Another time, with another man, Charles might have had the presence of mind to be embarrassed by how quickly he came – Erik had freed his cock and barely set a rhythm before Charles exploded – but he couldn’t stop to think about anything.  He was far too suffused with pleasure. </p>
<p>He let himself lay there, happily trapped under Erik’s firm lean body, boneless and sated.</p>
<p>Kissing Erik may have been a spur of the moment, half-crazed impulse, but Charles couldn’t deny it had all ended rather well.</p><hr/>
<p>Erik woke with the first hint of the sun, which was streaming through the pale curtains inadequately covering the window.  A window that did not belong to him. In his flat, he had thick blinds that completely blocked the morning sunlight, allowing him to sleep soundly until the moment his alarm sounded.</p>
<p>Here, the sun had crept in and disturbed his sleep, and the memories of last night flooded over him instantly. He and Charles, bodies entwined. Kisses. Touches. Coming together for the first time, somehow each movement feeling startling new, and yet achingly familiar.  As if they were just beginning a dance they would complete a thousand times.</p>
<p>He lay in bed, keeping himself as still as he could, Charles’ pale arm draped over his waist, sheets pushed down to his waist, his back exposed.  Erik couldn’t help but look his fill at Charles’ surprisingly broad shoulders, mapping the constellation of freckles he saw there and feeling like they were a map to a treasure who’s value Erik was only beginning to understand.</p>
<p>He had to leave. A quick glance at the clock on bedside table revealed it was half past six.  Erik was a forty minute tube ride from his flat.  He needed to shower and change. He was expected in the office by 8:30am. He had a scheduled meeting with videoconference with the New York office at 9am.  If he didn’t leave soon, he would quickly run out of time.</p>
<p>Gently, he lifted Charles’ arm and shifted out of the bed. He stood there, looking down for several minutes, still somewhat stunned by the recent turn of events and by the strength of his own desire to stay huddle in the warmth of Charles’ arms.</p>
<p>He made his feet move.  He would continue to be the man he’d always been: responsible, driven, focused.  Except now he was slightly more than that; he was also a man drawn to Charles Xavier, and he would be getting himself back to him as soon as he possibly could.</p>
<p>He carried his clothes from the room and flung them back on in the silence of Charles’ living room.  He was halfway to the door when he stopped in his tracks.  He’d almost forgotten his reason for visiting Charles in the first place – to warn him off Sebastian Shaw, to tell him the truth, as far as he knew it.</p>
<p>Erik rushed back into the living room, searching for paper and a pen.  Finding the tools he needed, he wrote. And wrote.  It felt like once he’d started, he couldn’t stop, he couldn’t miss a single detail of his encounters with Shaw.  If he explained everything, then Charles would see the risks, he would understand that Shaw was not a man to place trust in, and that he should search elsewhere for a publisher.</p>
<p>When he finally set the pen down, it was nearly seven o’clock.  Erik folded his letter and placed it carefully on Charles’ kitchen counter – it couldn’t possibly be missed in such a location.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you for reading and sticking with me :)</p>
<p>All comments and kudos are treasured like the jewels they are!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I would like to apologize for taking forever to update.  This has been a stressful and eventful years in many ways, both globally, and for me personally.  Writing took a bit of a backseat for a while so I could deal with some personal issues.</p>
<p>I will hopefully be updating more frequently again, but I have no set schedule.  I am leaving a job and starting a new one at the end of the month and have no idea how that might affect my writing time.</p>
<p>If you are still reading this, after such a long break, thank you very very much.</p>
<p>I really do love this silly, smutty little story and I have every intention of finishing it!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/>
<p>Charles woke slowly, blinking his eyes against the light and stretched, feeling a pleasant ache in his muscles as he reached out with his limbs. He closed his eyes and smiled to himself, remembering the exertions from the night before: the way Erik had hauled him bed, pined him down, spread him open and proceeded to find every erotic zone on Charles’ body, including several he hadn’t been aware he had.  If Charles had been in control of Erik on the couch, Erik had been completely in charge in the bedroom.</p>
<p>It had been glorious.</p>
<p>Charles couldn’t help the way his smile widened at the memory of it all. His grin faded quickly when he reached toward the other side of the bed and found it cold and empty.</p>
<p>Charles sat up quickly and glanced around the room, but it was silent.  Erik was no where to be seen.  </p>
<p>Walking out of his bedroom, down the stairs to the main floor, Charles found nothing but more silence.  Erik was gone.  The clothes that had been strewn across the living room were no longer there. Not one indication of a night time guest remained.</p>
<p>Charles was hit by an intense feeling of loneliness, disappointment, and hurt.  He hadn’t realized how much he’d wanted to wake up wrapped in Erik’s arms, to see Erik’s normally perfectly coiffed hair ruffled by sleep, to share lazy morning kisses and conversation with the other man until he was standing barefoot in his kitchen, very much alone.</p>
<p>Before he could truly wallow, a high pitched beeping interrupted his thoughts.</p>
<p>Charles stumbled into the living room, searching and finally finding his phone; it had somehow been kicked under the couch during last night’s events.</p>
<p>He was happy to end the shrill noises the phone had been emitting, but when he actually took the time to look at the screen, he could do nothing but groan, and then panic.</p>
<p>Scrambling back up the stairs to his bedroom, Charles rummaged through his closet and ducked into the bathroom to turn on the shower. He bounced around on one foot trying to get his socks on, after having the fastest shower he possibly could (he was not going to this meeting smelling like sweat and sex).</p>
<p>Glancing at his phone as he buttoned his shirt, Charles saw he had less than forty minutes to get to the Independence Press office for his meeting with Kitty and Shaw to finalize (or not finalize) the offered book deal. He would be lucky to make to on time, unless he sprinted to the station, encountered no construction delays, and was not waylaid by bumbling tourists.</p>
<p>There was also the slight issue of his continued dislike of Mr. Shaw and the knawing suspicion that he should turn down this deal, no matter how good it looked on paper. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, he hadn’t the time to dwell on his worries.</p>
<p>Shaking off his doubts, Charles flew down the stairs as fast as he could, threw his book bag on the kitchen counter and ran into the living room to grab his manuscript.  Stuffing his book into his bag, Charles gazed longingly at his kettle and wished he had a moment to make tea.  He didn’t have the time.  </p>
<p>What a horribly collossal failure this morning had been so far.</p>
<p>Charles dragged his bag off the counter and took a step forward to leave, only to stop mid-stride when he heard something hit the floor. Without thinking, Charles leaned over and picked up the envelope now lying on the floor – it had his name on it, though he couldn’t for the life of him remember seeing it before. With a shake of his head, Charles slipped the mystery letter into his bag as well, then rushed out the door and prayed to any god that would listen to help him make the meeting on time.</p>
<hr/>
<p>“So what did you say?” Raven asked, literally sitting on the edge of her seat in her New York apartment.</p>
<p>“What could I say?” Charles said, voice strained on the other end of the line. “After everything that happened? After all the trials we’ve had with this manuscript? It was an impossible choice.”</p>
<p>“I know you’ve had doubts Charles. I know its been more than a little crazy these past few months, but… what have I always told you? Whenever you get like this, what do I say?” Raven prodded.</p>
<p>“To stop getting stuck in my head and trust my gut.”</p>
<p>“And?  What did your gut tell you?  Did you listen?”</p>
<p>“I did.” Charles’ voice was quiet, but firm.</p>
<p>“Good.”</p>
<p>“I think I might have ruined everything, Raven.” Charles continued, his voice sounding pained. “I’m not sure where I go from here, what I can possibly say to fix our relationship. My decision… there’s no going back from it and I’m not sure there’s any way forward either.”</p>
<p>“You’re catatrophizing.” Raven declared. “That’s what a therapist would say, anyway. Give it a few days.  Maybe even a week or two. You’re a young, well educated, independently wealthy young man – the world is your oyster.”</p>
<p>“I feel as though you’re highlighting my priviledge: am I meant to feel optimistic or guilt ridden?”</p>
<p>“Realistically you should feel at least slightly guilty for your ridiculous amounts of priviledge, but practically I want you to feel better about this situation.  It’s not the end of your life, or your career; it’s a bump in the road.”</p>
<p>“Thank you for listening, Raven.” Charles said, sincerity dripping off his every word.  “And thank you for your sage advise.”</p>
<p>“If I was there with you, I’d probably just get you drunk, stuff you with pizza, and make you sing karaoke in public.  This long distance thing sucks.  Real life Raven is all fun, long distance Raven is -”</p>
<p>“Wise beyond her years?” Charles suggested.</p>
<p>“I was going to say way too boring, but just this one time I’ll accept your description.” Raven leaned back on her couch, feeling more relaxed than she had when Charles had originally called her, a mix of panic and depression in his voice. “Call me next week – no matter what. Or it’ll be me hounding your ass.”</p>
<p>“Such loving threats.” Charles replied and Raven could hear his smile through the phone. “I will call.”</p>
<p>“Cross your heart?” Raven found herself saying, echoing back to years ago when they were children and she’d worried so often about losing her one confident, her new found friend.</p>
<p>“Cross my heart.” Charles answered, his tone as serious as it always had been when they were young. “Goodbye, my dear.”</p>
<p>“Goodbye Charles.”</p>
<hr/>
<p>Erik had been waiting outside Charles’ house for long enough that his toes were numb.  The chill of a damp London November as nothing to scoff at, and Erik was seriously considering whether he should leave and find a warm cozy pub nearby.</p>
<p>Except he wanted to see Charles. He felt like he had to see Charles.</p>
<p>He knew the meeting had been today.  He knew Charles had still been conflicted, or at least he had been a few days ago.</p>
<p>They hadn’t talked about it last night; they’d barely spoken at all. Erik had been far too wrapped up in touching Charles, in tasting him, in feeling him. It hadn’t been a night for words, it had been a night to get lost in one another and communicate with bodies alone.</p>
<p>Erik didn’t regret a second of it.</p>
<p>Though if he was completely honest, he’d spent most of his day worrying about whether he should have spoken to Charles this morning instead of just leaving a note, or wondering if Charles had read the letter, and half expecting a phone call form the other man to rant about the letter and Erik’s lack of earlier honesty about Shaw, but no such call had come.</p>
<p>So he was here at Charles’ door. Determined to see the other man and have a face to face conversation and ‘stop being a stubborn, secretive asshole’ (Emma’s words, not his).</p>
<p>Erik was pondering the possibility of whether he would spot Charles walking home if he sat in a window seat at the pub around the corner, when he heard footsteps.  He looked up immediately, a ridiculous feeling of hopeful anticipation filling his body.  He couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips when he made out the familiar floppy head of hair headed his way.</p>
<p>His happiness soon turned sour however, as the figure walking toward him stumbled and swerved.  Erik took a step forward just as Charles staggered into the light of a streetlamp only a couple meters in front of Erik.</p>
<p>Erik’s eyes widened at the state of the man,who appeared to be covered in a mix of dirt, leaves, and possibly blood, and he rushed forward.</p>
<p>“What the fuck happened to you?” Erik asked, grabbing onto Charles’ arms as the other man blinked up at him owlishly. “Charles? Tell me what happened”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/>
<p>“Erik?” Charles said, the hopeful look in his eyes causing Erik’s generally stone cold heart to melt more than a little.</p>
<p>Erik didn’t get another coherent word out of Charles as they made their way to his home.  Charles spoke; his words tripping over each other, but his teeth were chattering so violently Erik couldn’t make out a word.</p>
<p>“Give me your keys.” Erik instructed.</p>
<p>Charles fumbled, but eventually managed to procure a set of keys, which Erik immediately swiped out of his hand. Opening the door, Erik hustled Charles inside and removed his coat, running his hands along Charles’ arms, his back, and cradling his face.</p>
<p>Streaks of dirt covered Charles’ usual pale cheeks and neck.  Erik noticed Charles flinch several times as Erik completed his survey, though Charles didn’t mutter a single protest.</p>
<p>“Let’s get you in the shower.”</p>
<p>Erik clasped Charles’ hand and lead him up the stairs. He helped Charles unbutton his shirt when Charles couldn’t coordinate his own still icy cold fingers to do the job.  He started the water, turning it to its hottest setting as Charles shimmied out of his pants. </p>
<p>Erik couldn’t quite keep the scowl off his face when he turned and saw the bruises blooming on Charles’ skin. He did his best to soften his expression when he looked back up and saw Charles’ wide, apprehensive eyes.</p>
<p>“Go warm up.” Erik motioned to the shower, ushering Charles forward. “We’ll talk when you get out.”</p>
<p>Charles bobbed his head, his cheeks flushing and his hands awkwardly shielding his crotch. Erik moved past him, planning to leave the room, but Charles remained motionless, rooted to the spot.</p>
<p>“For fuck’s sake, I saw every naked inch of you last night.” Erik muttered as he physically gave Charles a gentle push toward the tub. “You are, without a doubt the most exquisite thing I have ever seen. A few bruises are hardly going to change that.” Erik leaned down and placed a lingering kiss on Charles’ shoulder. “Have a shower.  Or soak in the bath. Whatever you need. I’ll go make tea.”</p>
<p>Erik gave Charles’ ass a quick but longing look, before he forced himself to leave the room. It was tempting to stay, to join Charles in the shower, and inspect every inch of him at least twice to make sure the smaller man was truly unharmed, but Charles needed time to compose himself. Whatever had happened – and Erik was going to get to the bottom of it and possibly eviserate anybody who might have hurt Charles – it had shaken Charles.</p>
<p>Erik wandered through the kitchen, putting the kettle on for tea, rummaging through the cupboards and the fridge, searching for an unknown something.  When he found a tin with what appeared to be homemade scones, he stopped, satisfied that this was exactly what Charles needed.  He found a drawer stuffed full of more varieties of tea than he had been aware existed and picked something that sounded herbal and light.</p>
<p>All he could do now was wait.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Charles dressed himself in his warmest, fluffiest pyjamas and wrapped himself in a house coat and stuffed his feet into his fuzzy elephant slippers. He wasn’t cold any longer, but he craved the layers.</p>
<p>He made his way down the stairs slowly, a part of him expecting to find his kitchen empty, proof that his earlier interaction with Erik – all tenderness, concern, and compliments – was a figment of his imagination.</p>
<p>But when he entered the kitchen, Erik was there; leaning against the counter and looking like perfection incarnate. Charles crossed his arms over his chest, essentially hugging himself, and fixed his eyes on the steaming tea pot as Erik poured them each a cup.</p>
<p>“Thank you.” Charles said, reaching forward for his cup and then stepping back again. “For the tea.”</p>
<p>Charles sipped, and to his surprise, discovered that Erik had chosen a soft herbal blend of orange and honey tea.  It seeped into him, spreading its warmth and soothing his nerves, not completely, but significantly.</p>
<p>“I read your letter.”</p>
<p>Erik raised an eyebrow and sipped his tea.</p>
<p>“How did you end up covered in dirt?” Erik countered.</p>
<p>Charles scowled and set his cup down. His attempt to keep the conversation off of himself had failed.</p>
<p>“I experience a series of unfortunate events.”</p>
<p>“I feel we’re on the edge of our first fight.” Erik frowned, setting his cup down as well. “Answer the question, Charles.”</p>
<p>“Our first fight? I was under the impression we’d had numerous arguments.” Charles shot back. “I believe our average is one for every day of our acquaintance.”</p>
<p>“I meant our first fight as a couple.” Erik took a step closer to Charles. “We are a couple now, aren’t we?  We slept together.  You read my letter.  And you let me into your house again, in spite of everything you read. That’s seems like a relationship to me.”</p>
<p>Charles closed his eyes and let out a slow, controlled breath.</p>
<p>“You’ve not had many relationships, have you?”</p>
<p>“Have you?” Erik arched a brow as he took another sip of tea.</p>
<p>“This conversation is ridiculous.” Charles waved a hand, dismissing the topic altogether. “You want to know what happened to me, how I became so ruffled, yes?”</p>
<p>“Ruffled?” Erik repeated. “Yes I want to hear how you became ruffled with dirt, grass and blood.”</p>
<p>“There was blood?” Charles cocked his head in surprise. “Hmm.  I was not aware I had bled – clearly it was not a serious injury, no reason to concern yourself.” </p>
<p>Charles paused to take a sip of tea and almost opened his mouth to compliment Erik on his choice of blend, but the serious, focused scowl on the other man’s face stopped him.</p>
<p>“I had a rather trying day.” Charles began. “I wanted to distracted myself.  I went to the British Museum. I ate my favourite curry for dinner.  I walked through Highgate Cemetery. Suffice it to say, it was a long day and as it is now November, it was quite dark by the time I made my way home.  I thought it would be relaxing to walk through the Heath – and it was – or it would have been perfectly relaxing if a small gaggle of neerdowells hadn’t accosted me. It’s rather embarrassing, to be pushed off one’s feet by a group of pimply teenagers, but that is what occurred. They caught me at a most disadvantageous spot, at least from my perspective, and after a few quick shoves, I tripped over a branch and tumbled down a hill into some bushes.  Perhaps I cut myself during the fall.  Or it could have been when I was searching through the bushes for my wallet and my mobile, which somehow both fell out of my pockets during the fall.  It’s all rather a blur I’m afraid.  I could barely see, I’d also lost my glasses, and I did stumble quite a few more times before I gave my possessions up for a lost cause. And so, you see that is how I came to look as I did.”</p>
<p>Charles was sure he looked sheepish. He certainly felt more than a bit sheepish as he looked back over at Erik. He was surprised to find Erik was still frowning, his arms squarely crossed over his chest.</p>
<p>“I am clearly fine.” He added, but Erik’s frowned remained.</p>
<p>“You had your meeting with Shaw today.”</p>
<p>“I… yes, I did.” Charles ducked his head and took another sip of tea.</p>
<p>“You seem to have glossed over that particular part of your ‘trying day’. Don’t keep me in suspense.” Erik urged him on.</p>
<p>“The meeting produced nothing of significance. Other than me rejecting Shaw’s offer, ruining my years long relationship with my agent, and likely killing my career in one fell swoop.” Charles replied bitterly.</p>
<p>The frustration he felt from the late morning meeting still coursed through him. Kitty had been stunned. Shaw had been angry; offering them both a series of vulgar insults, threats to prevent Charles from ever being published, and then promptly having them escorted out of the building. Kitty’s words to him outside the office; her dismay, her hurt at his perceived betrayal, those had been worse than anything Shaw had said.</p>
<p>Charles stared at the floor and wished, not for the first time that day, that the ground might swallow him whole.</p>
<p>“You did what you felt was right.” Erik’s voice was soft, firm, and much closer than a moment ago. "And it was the right thing to do, no matter what your agent might feel."</p>
<p>Charles only started slightly when Erik’s fingers glided across his, slowly coaxing Charles’ hand into his own.  Charles hadn’t realized how tightly he’d been clutching at his house coat until his hand was forced to let go.</p>
<p>“It was awful.” Charles muttered. “I was awful. Kitty had tears in her eyes while she was yelling me; I think I broke her heart and possibly ruined her business.”</p>
<p>“You made the best decision you could with the information you had.” Erik countered.</p>
<p>“Information? What information?” Charles spit out, a humourless laugh escaping him “I hadn’t even read your letter - it was stuffed in my bag. I didn't read it until I was on the tube home after the meeting.  All I had was this feeling that I couldn’t trust that man.”</p>
<p>“My letter would must have confirmed your suspicions: you saved yourself and Kitty a world of trouble.” Erik insisted, squeezing Charles’ hand. “Shaw is an underhanded, lying bastard.  Knowing you threw his contract back in his face gives me great satisfaction.”</p>
<p>Charles looked up to see Erik’s face lit by a feral grin, but he eyes remained hard and unwavering.</p>
<p>“I am sorry for what he did to you, Erik. Bringing you a manuscript, passing it off as legitimate, as a true memoire, when he knew it was nothing but a lie?  He set you up to take the fall with clear intent.” Charles squeezed Erik’s hand when it felt as though he might pull away. “The man knows how to appeal to our hopes, our dreams and use them to his advantage.  Kitty fell for the same tactics.  How I avoided his trap, I can’t quite say.”</p>
<p>“I should have said something. Earlier.” Erik rubbed his thumb across Charles’ knuckles, ever so gently. “But I had made so many missteps already. I had done so little to earn your trust and I didn’t think I could say anything and be believed, but I should have.  I should have told you. And Kitty.”</p>
<p>“Perhaps.” Charles shrugged. “But would I have listened?  Would she? I can’t say we would have. And now, well now I have earthly idea what to do with this manuscript.”</p>
<p>“I could offer-”</p>
<p>“Stop.” Charles cut in, placing a hand on Erik’s chest. “Do not continue that sentence. I am not going to let my boyfriend publish my book: I can, I will, find another publisher.”</p>
<p>“Your boyfriend?” Erik gave Charles what he could only describe as an eager smile.</p>
<p>“I am not a man for one night stands.” Charles replied stiffly. “So, if you’re willing, then yes, boyfriend.  Boyfriends.  We could be boyfriends. Partners. A couple. Significant others if you will.”</p>
<p>“Shut up, Charles.”</p>
<p>Charles did shut up.  His rambling ended when Erik kissed him (thank goodness, he’d really gone off, making a complete embarrassment out of himself, again). It was difficult not to get lost in Erik’s kiss, not to groan and grab at the other man.  Erik brought out an uncontrolled passion in him after all.  But tonight Charles took things slowly and savoured.  He let his hand stroke the side of Erik’s face.  He  nipped and sipped at Erik’s lips, taking in their taste, their texture.</p>
<p>Leaning back, Charles gazed into Erik’s eyes, enjoying all those swirling colours; the greys, blues, and flecks of green.</p>
<p>“I am beyond exhausted.” He said truthfully. “Come to bed?”</p>
<p>Erik nodded and they climbed the stairs, hands linked.</p>
<p>In the morning, Charles had the pleasure of waking up with Erik’s arms around him and the even greater joy of having his heart turn over in his chest when Erik lifted his head and Charles spied the glorious imperfection of his sleep ruffled hair.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Yes, I will continue this fic.  No, I do not know when I will.</p><p>If you follow me on tumblr, look for updates there as I posted in there first and will likely post updates there first.</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>